


Have a Heart

by scratchedandinked



Series: Deaf Oswald [4]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Basically Babysitting, Deaf Character, Domestic, Ed has a shitty dad, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Oswald is a beautiful parent, Sign Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 05:25:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14537607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scratchedandinked/pseuds/scratchedandinked
Summary: A visit from Martin is always a welcome surprise. A visit from Ed’s parental childhood trauma definitely is not. There was something warming about caring for Martin with Oswald that terrified Ed. He simply wanted Martin to be safe and happy (and smart).(Anon prompted: Edwald taking care of Martin)





	Have a Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the anon that sent this in. I loved writing this and exploring this side of Os and Ed.  
> If you have any you want to send in, find me @ednygmas-twinklegs on tumblr.  
> xo

Ed generally detested the idea that he and Oswald were the type of people-- type of  _ couple--  _ that depended on the other. Although, with that said, Oswald was  _ fucking _ lucky to have Ed; his ability to keep things clean was pretty much his strongest domestic trait. And traits that made anyone a great murderer  _ and  _ common law husband were meant to be worshipped.

The task for Ed’s Thursday was simple: laundry. Their suits were at the dry cleaners, but everything else was collecting wrinkles in hampers or in piles on the floor. The basement of their manor had a washing machine, but Ed wasn’t sure it wouldn’t actually destroy the clothing attempting to be washed. Hand washing their clothes wasn’t above his daily duties. Besides, he probably knew more about the science of stain removal than some of the dry cleaners.

After collecting the house’s laundry, Ed penned a quick informative note to Oswald before going to the basement; he had left earlier that morning to meet up with Victor. Oswald was due back soon and Ed knew better than to yell up from the basement; he’d never hear him or the banging of his feet against the floor. The basement was also the last place Oswald would look to try and find Ed on any given day unless following hostage directions-- been there, done that.

The large basin sink was in the corner of the basement at the wall farthest from the stairs and adjacent to the washing machine. Instead of washing the clothes, it was the resting place for the separated piles. As the water ran, Ed cuffed his sleeves up to his elbows and tucked his tie between two buttons.

Ed had barely gotten to a shirt cuff wine stain when the front door slammed closed above him. He continued scrubbing but kept his body angled towards the stairs to catch Oswald as he entered. He heard a familiar uneven tap of Oswald’s shoes cross the house before immediately turning and crossing back. He stopped at the door leading to the basement.

“Ed, we have a visitor.” Oswald spoke from the top of the stairs and Ed immediately dropped the bar of soap and began rinsing his hands. Ed wasn’t sure who it could have been for Oswald to speak instead of waiting to sign to Ed.

“Yes, sir.” Ed wiped his hands and began walking to the stairs only to nearly crash into Oswald. “I can be presentable in a moment.”

“Nonsense.” Oswald smiled and motioned behind him. “I brought a friend.”

Martin waved from a few stairs up. He was dressed just as smartly as he and Oswald had taught him and his notepad had been updated to a pad that had an embellished M resting at the top of every page. He had grown very little from the last time Ed saw him, but he was mildly relieved to not have missed much.

“This is a surprise!” Ed grinned, wiping the rest of the water on his pants before offering a hug. Martin slipped beside Oswald to jump from the stairs to Ed’s arms.

_ I have to finish up some work with Victor, do you mind watching him for a bit?  _ Oswald asked, signing now that Martin was not the immediate receiver of the conversation. His signing wasn’t enough to fully understand Oswald without Ed’s translations.

_ Of course _ . Ed waved Oswald off and eased Martin to the ground. “You get to hang out with me for a little. How’s that sound?” Martin nodded and held a thumb up.

“I won’t be too long.” Oswald said, his hands echoing his words. “Just home arrangement things.”

Oswald went back up the stairs and Ed walked with Martin over to the sink again. Before getting back to the shirt, he rearranged the piles on the washer and lifted Martin to sit on the top, easily in his vision. Ed started the water again and lathered the soap while Martin fiddled with the clothes framing his legs.

“How’s school?” Ed asked. “Heard you started second grade.” Martin nodded and smiled, reaching for his notepen. His capped pen had been replaced by a more elegant clicking one. One sound and Ed knew to look over.

_ It’s fun. My teachers are all really smart _ .

“Well, that is definitely a great quality for teachers.” Ed said. “What’s your favorite subject?”

Martin hesitated. He placed his notepad back down against his body and lifted his hands. Martin seemed to grip two invisible glasses, tipping and pouring them together invisibly in front of him.

“Science?” Ed lifted his hands from the water and mimicked the correct sign. Martin nodded and corrected his hands and movement. “Really? That was mine too.” The shared joy lit up Martin’s smile, his round cheeks lifting and causing him to squint. “Did you know, I used to be a scientist for the police?” Ed waited for the confusion, but instead Martin laughed. “I know, ridiculous, right?”

_ Now you work with Uncle Oswald. _

“I do. We are kind of our own police department.” Ed laughed. “But, less health benefits.” The stain appeared to be nearly lifted. Ed held up the shirt while Martin kept quiet, looking at himself in the fogged and grimy mirror across the room by the powerbox. Ed turned and twisted the shirt’s fabric, checking every side for any remaining spot. Martin finally lifted his notepad after tearing the page off twice. He unclicked his pen.

_ What are you doing _ ?

“Oh, it’s just laundry.” Ed motioned to the sink of soaking clothes. “But I’m doing it by hand.”

Martin quickly got back to his pad and began sketching. He showed a stick figure, presumably of Ed, standing at the sink with a stiff looking shirt in his hands. Once Martin saw Ed register his image, and Ed nodded in agreement, he lifted his pen and drew a triangle over the bottom of Ed’s stickfigure.

“Did you just draw me in a skirt?” Ed asked, looking down at his pants. “I don’t own any of those. And I’m not washing any.” Martin shook his head and tapped the triangle again. “Oh, why does a woman have to be doing laundry.”

Martin flipped the page quickly.  _ Dad said. _

“ _ Oh _ .” Ed nodded, pursing his lips. “Well, that’s not true.”

_ I thought so too. _ Martin showed the pad to Ed, the pen clicking and unclicking his hand, words trapped.  _ I didn’t want to say anything to him though. _

“Do you not like Dad?” Ed asked. He rinsed the shirt gently, the water’s hissing filling Martin’s restricting shrug.

_ He’s okay. Wished I lived here _ .

“It’s not safe, Martin, you know that.” Martin’s response to Ed was a long sigh. Unfortunately, Ed was supposed to be far too mature in the situation to do the same. “I mean, people think you’re dead. Realistically, and despite popular events here, you can’t return after that.”

_ I wish I could _ .

“Us too, Martin.” Ed said, beginning to twist and wring out the shirt. The stained water spiraled down the drain. “You know, I didn’t like my dad growing up either.” Martin placed his notepad down and looked at Ed with calm, listening eyes. They were frighteningly close to Oswald’s. “He was… harsh, most of the time. He had the same ideas about things like your dad; men and women did specifically separate things, I wasn’t allowed to do  _ this _ or  _ that _ .”

Martin held a hand up quickly to stop Ed. He signed slowly. His lessons with Oswald were inconsistent and his exposure was poor, but Ed loved watching him practice.  _ Like…. what? _

“Like what? Well, uh, this, I would say. Doing laundry, and for Oswald no less.” Ed shrugged. Martin was a boy who’s biggest problem at that moment was tying his shoes. He didn’t need to hear about Ed’s father slurring unforgivable words at him. It wasn’t productive and Ed didn’t want to use the mindlessness of laundry to ponder on  _ that _ . “It’s ridiculous and you should never worry about it. You have have a way to contact Victor if you are in trouble, okay?”

He nodded and Ed was relieved the conversation could pass quickly. Caring for Martin was an exercise in actively forgetting his own upbringing. Martin was a bright boy that would grow to do impressive things, regardless of his environment-- but it never hurt Ed to try and create a loving one.

“How are we down here?” Oswald called. He poked his head out from behind the wall covering the stairs, already grinning before seeing them both.

Martin held up both hands quickly, stopping any further conversation. He commanded the room and slowly, but correctly, signed back.  _ Good _ .

“We were talking about girls.” Ed said, winking at Martin. He giggled and quickly grabbed his pad to begin correcting Ed.

“You were doing what?” Oswald asked, stepping forward and eyes stuck on Ed’s lips. “Did you just say ‘girls’?” Martin lifted his previous drawing, throwing a hand up to stop Ed from talking again. “Oh, girls… doing  _ laundry _ ? Okay?” Martin tapped the picture again. “I’m sorry Martin but Ed needs to sign this to me to explain.”

_ He was saying how, _ Ed paused, unsure of whose father to expose.  _ How some people think only women do laundry _ .

_ Well that’s bullshit _ . Oswald signed immediately. Martin laughed; he knew that one.  _ Do women only cook? Hypothetically, to these people _ ? Ed translated the sentence for Martin as he snapped the shirt of excess water. Martin shrugged and gave a disapproving nod.  _ Well, looks like I have to make you a late lunch _ .

“Are you hungry?” Ed asked after translating again. “Oswald doesn’t make small portions. He’s not good at math like us.”

While Oswald glared at Ed, Martin carefully eased himself down from the washing machine and onto the floor. He ran for the stairs, making a hand washing motion.

_ Let’s see. One King plus one gun plus one bullet. One plus one plus one, equals a  _ **_dead man_ ** _. _ Oswald signed, turning to hide his words from the boy climbing the stairs. Ed let his head fall back as he laughed, Oswald’s faux hurt endearing.  _ Shut up and stop washing my shirts before I put that soap in your mouth _ .

After Ed rinsed the other soapy shirts and his hands, they both walked to the stairs. Oswald went up first and met Martin at the landing, about to come walking back down. Martin held his hands up, the light shine of water residue on his fingers acting as proof.

“How long is Martin staying with us?” Ed asked, walking on the other side of the boy. Martin watched Ed’s hands communicate with Oswald, trying to match the words and motions.

_Only a few hours today._ Oswald answered with a sigh. **_Someone_** _has school tomorrow that they can’t skip again._ _Victor will be back early in the evening_.

Martin wrote on his pad as Oswald and Ed washed their own hands in the kitchen sink. They used opposite ends of the kitchen towel to dry their hands. Martin clicked his pen and Ed turned, tapping Oswald’s hand gently to do the same.

_ At least we can have lunch together! _

“That’s very true. I get to show you that  _ men _ can cook too.” Oswald nodded. “Now, what does a hungry second grader want to eat?”

Martin signed back quickly, all movements perfect:  _ Everything _ .

* * *

 

To eat their oversized lunch, they all sat on the kitchen counters; Martin was never allowed to sit on them at home. Ed rested his head against the cabinets and watched Oswald show Martin food signs. For about five minutes, Martin had been insisting that he didn’t believe there wasn’t an  _ actual _ sign for broccoli and it had to be fingerspelled. Their bowls were empty, the  Pastitsio  devoured before Martin even asked the sign for “pasta”.

Kids weren’t something Ed dealt with regularly or saw himself dealing with in his near future, but Martin never felt like a kid. He felt like a wonderfully naive and immature friend that dropped in every few months. It wasn’t until certain moments Ed even remembered that what he was doing-- teaching, encouraging, and joking with Martin-- was considered  _ parenting _ . The word had many definitions apparently, but Ed liked to think his was going in a more positive direction.

_ How was your pasta? _ Oswald asked, quizzing Martin’s signs.

_ Good _ . Martin signed with more confidence than before. 

_ Who’s the better cook _ ?

_ Ed.  _ Martin spared no time or feelings.

_ How could you say that _ ? Oswald gasped.

“Oswald.” Ed laughed. “No offense to your mother’s recipes, but this is a skill I have over you.”

_ I didn’t hear your tone but I know I already hate it _ . Oswald replied.  _ Don’t encourage him, Martin _ .

_ Cooking is a science _ . Martin wrote quickly.  _ Ed  _ _ has _ _ to win. _

Oswald glared at Ed and sucked his teeth, waiting for him to correct his own growing ego.

The squabble was nothing. A fight that had no malice or force to even be able to fizzle out. The perfect argument between parents.

\--not that Ed Nygma would ever consider himself a parent of Martin. God no.  _ No no no no _ . He wasn’t a father. No fucking way. With his past crime, he was already too much like his own father.

Both Oswald and Martin weren’t speaking aloud and the conversation slipped past Ed’s eyes as he stared ahead. He tried to pause the spiraling thought of his father but found it took much energy to have sitting in the background. Ed swallowed it instead, pushed aside the feeling of pride he saw looking at Martin, and stood from the counter.

“I should really finish the laundry.” He said, interrupting their conversation. Martin looked up at Ed with disappointment. “It’s been wonderful seeing you, Martin. A lovely surprise.” Ed hugged the boy tightly, hand pressing into his curls. The pride swelled in his throat, but he left them both to finish their time together; Oswald had better ways with Martin anyhow.

Before Ed could leave the kitchen, a gentle hand grabbed his own, barely able to grip it fully. A small stiff note page was placed in his palm. Martin smiled and let Ed leave again, both him and Oswald watching him with wide, attentive eyes. He unfolded it on the stairs. 

The note was small and succinct. Ed had only heard the words from one other person in his life:

_ Love you _ .

Ed wasn’t a parent, but something deep inside of him shifted aside. The coursing desire for order, power, recognition, and  _ want _ moved to push forward Edward Nygma. Shy, awkward, obviously virginal, skillfully embarassing, uncomfortably unaware of himself, Edward Nygma. He nearly wept with contentment and warmth. Ed cared no mind to his parents and his past-- he was a new man with new principles -- but a supressed and lonely Edward Nygma had never known more joy.

Ed smiled and tucked the note into his back pocket before rolling his sleeves back up. He grabbed the soap bar to start on a new blood stain. Edward hovered with him, watching his work silently.

“You know, we can get along like this.” Edward said, his reflection showing in the scraped faucet neck. “You, doing minimal murders. Me, hanging out with the children you somehow adopt with your boyfriend taking down yet  _ another _ mob boss.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Ed retorted, wiping a smudge of soap on the faucet. The face only appeared more clearly. “We just… live together.”

“You know, Ed, you can  _ say _ boyfriend.” Edward said, adjusting his glasses. “He’s not here.”

“I kn-- I know that!” Ed said through gritted teeth. Ten years and a single mention of his father made Ed tremble. He yanked the faucet handle and rinsed the shirt. Edward watched him, nodding as Ed’s thoughts spiraled. “Stop  _ doing that _ !”

“Hey, I lived with him. You only get memories. I’m the one who was lucky enough to get our ass into science instead of going to goddamn culinary school. God, can you imagine.  _ Us _ cooking? God, Dad would have killed us.” Edward laughed nervously; he wasn’t joking. “You know, maybe that might have been a good thing; I could have meet you a lot sooner.”

“Do you  _ have _ to talk about this?” Ed asked, snapping the shirt. The wet shirt sounded like a whip, the water droplets flying through the room. They landed on the cement floor by Ed’s feet. The formation was familiar and the droplets were just the right size-- “Don’t talk about killing him. I’ve thought about it way too much since Kristen.”

“I didn’t know  _ that _ !” Edward gapsed. “That’s a little… Premeditated for you. For both of us.” He appeared now in the grimy mirror holding Martin’s curious and precious face hours earlier. “I can’t say I didn’t consider it too. Remember that year before grad school-- Oh dear. Oh, that was a close one, Ed. We almost met then, I think.”

“ _ Stop talking! _ ” Ed hissed, pointing at Edward in the mirror. “I don’t think about him. Not anymore. Martin makes me  _ forget _ about how terrible he was and--”

“What was it he said?” Edward soldiered on, folding his arms over his chest. He was dressed differently than Ed. He was in an old Gotham University t-shirt, glasses larger and in thin wire frames. His hair was curled and hanging across his forehead. “‘ _ You’ll never amount to anything, Ed! You’re a spineless, gutless, mindless, freak! You’re lucky you live under my roof! You need me! _ ’ You remember that?” Edward asked, pitching his voice lower to imitate their father.

“Stop.” Ed shouted, throwing the shirt at the mirror. “I don’t  _ care _ !”

“You do, idiot.” Edward laughed. He waited for Ed to pick up the shirt and wipe the mirror for him. Edward pushed up his glasses, his hand grazing his nose and a sudden stream of blood coming out of it. Ed remembered that more than anything. “You care about it because you care about Martin. You see yourself in him-- fucking narcissist. You want him to be  _ as _ smart, if not  _ smarter _ than you. You want him to grow up healthy and supported and  _ loved _ . You domestic fucker, you.” Edward was laughing with endearment, but it all sounded like cackling to Ed. A mockery of his old sensibilities.

“SHUT UP!” Ed screamed, turning away and ripping off his glasses. “I just want Martin to be safe. I just want him to be safe. Safe and happy. I want him to be safe and happy. And smart. Safe and happy and smart.” Ed pressed his fingers over his eyes, residue of soap stinging his eyes-- better than crying on his own. “Safe. And happy. And Smart. And--”

“Ed? Is everything okay down here?” Oswald shocked Ed back to his own cohesive mind. He yanked his hands down to his side and pushed his glasses back on his nose. Oswald was at the landing of the steps, holding the wall.

“Where’s Martin?” Ed asked, reading the worry on Oswald’s face incorrectly.

_ Victor just took him back _ . Oswald signed, stepped further into the room.  _ What are you doing? _

“Laundry.” Ed said, reaching for another shirt. It was Oswald’s favorite. “Someone has to do it.”

_ Why are you speaking to me? _ Oswald asked, walking forward to remain in Ed’s field of sight.  _ What’s going on, Ed. _

“Nothing! I’m just, busy with my hands right now.” They were trembling, the soap falling into the basin as he tried to scrub against the shirt collar. Every time he tried to grab it, the soap shot across the bottom or spun around the drain. Edward had escaped the mirror and was using Ed’s hands as gloves.

“Ed.” Oswald said, reaching into the sink to take his hands. He offered Ed’s hands up to his words.

Ed lifted his hands, sighing slowly.  _ No _ .

“ED!” Oswald shouted, startling only Ed with his volume. _You left us quickly. What is the problem?_ _Is it with Martin_?

_ No! No. Not Martin. _ Ed denied. He sorted through Edward’s words before settling on his own.  _ I don’t want to miss him when he’s gone. It’s detrimental. It’s distracting. _

_ It’s called caring about someone _ . Oswald finished with a smirk.  _ You just don’t know what to do now that the person isn’t, at most, one floor away from you. _

“Not helping.” Ed said, turning back to the sink. “This is not helping.” He continued scrubbing and felt a hand rest on his back. Oswald rubbed between his shoulder blades, standing beside him and his work. He watched with less judgement than Edward.

Oswald had a parent that was his entire world; he didn’t want to shy away from the cherished warmth gained from guiding a child into a new lightness of the world. He squeezed Ed’s shoulder and leaned his head against his arm.

_ It’s not going to end badly, Ed _ . Oswald said, one hand still clutching his shoulder.  _ I promise _ .  _ Victor keeps a good eye on the family and on Martin. I get reports every other week _ .

“You do?”

_ Would you like them added to your daily briefs? _

“Very much so.” Ed whispered. He nodded to reinforce the words unheard on his lips. “Thank you.”

“It’s not gonna end badly.” Edward echoed across the room. “Safe, happy, and smart, Ed. He’s going to be.”

Ed could feel Edward dissolve behind them, his trembling fear and rage escaping in a long sigh. Oswald’s hand rubbed across his back again, Ed’s body deflating under the release. His glasses slid down on his nose and the shirt before him blurred into useless shapes. The cleaning was useless by then, but proving therapeutic. He continued to scrub blindly and rested his chin on the top of Oswald’s head. He checked the mirror: empty.

“You know,” Oswald said. “I prefer the term ‘mentor’.” Ed pulled back and stared at Oswald. He lifted his hands and fingerspelled to Ed.  _ M-E-N-T-O-R _ .

“You said it right.” Ed didn’t stop washing the shirt and spoke slowly. “But why did you say it?”

_ That’s how I think of myself to Martin. I have mentored many people in my time _ , He stopped to grin at Ed, pecking him on the cheek.  _ And I think it’s time you were one too _ .

“You want me to mentor Martin?” Ed asked. “But he’s not supposed to be in Gotham that often. It’s not safe.”

_ Nothing’s changing, Edward. _ Oswald corrected, placing both hands on his chest before continuing.  _ I just don’t think you are quite a  _ **_parent_ ** _. The term doesn’t suit you. _

Ed blinked, afraid to admit a single word. He nodded and feigned disinterest, like he was being proposed a deal.

_ Parents make mistakes, they are new. Mentor are masters, choosing someone new to continue their intellectual lineage _ . Oswald explained. He looked up at Ed with knowing eyes and a growing smirk.  _ And Martin is a perfect grooming candidate for us both _ .

Martin: master criminal, thought to be Deaf but actually collecting all information accurately on papers, easily disposed. No possible way of getting him to talk in torture-- new levels of blackmail needed by all other criminals. Martin could easily be Gotham’s biggest threat in ten years. Martin would sweep into the city, the powerful and the brave ducking to their knees.

Martin was a beautiful boy with a beautiful mind. He’d learn from Oswald’s deception and snake into the lives of the rich and the powerful. He’d study strategy with Ed, outsmarting a room in a glance. He’d learn from Ed’s own childhood mistakes and naive acts of independence; Martin would never get hurt.

_ With my brain, and your heart _ . Ed replied, pausing to imagine Martin again, facing grinning and bopping in the mirror. He appeared in a flash, giggling and free.  _ He’ll be unstoppable. _

_ My heart? What about yours? _ Oswald asked. He reached down and stopped Ed’s fidgeting hands. The soap fell to the bottom of the sink as Oswald took his hands. Their fingers slipped apart before lacing together.

_ That’s something you have over  _ **_me_ ** _. _ Ed answered, wiping his one hand clean before responding.  _ I was never good with it. _

_ I refuse to believe you _ .  _ You were great with Martin today. _ He lifted his head and gazed up at Ed. His wide eyes were soft and careful, taking in Ed’s distress. Oswald reached up and adjusted Ed’s glasses on his nose, lips pressed together in a suppressed smile.  _ You are always great with me _ .

Ed released Oswald’s hand to reach into his pockets. One dry and one wet hand fumbled to find the folded piece of paper. The note’s corners were wet as Ed unfolded it, Oswald still looking at Ed’s face, his eyes tracking his every furrow and blink. Oswald didn’t look down at Martin’s note until Ed’s face began to crumple.

The tears were hot and unfamiliar. Ed hadn’t cried like this, unprompted and draining, in years. He lifted his head as he felt his nose sting, wanting to keep the tears from running down his cheeks and from Oswald even seeing them. Maybe Ed had a heart after all; a weak and pathetic one.

A small boy-- a joyful and growing boy-- could twist his heart into flashing back to his worst moments out of fear. A boy’s two lopsided words could make the forgotten feelings of doubt and dejection crash over him. It didn’t matter where his body was, Ed’s father had died long before then, but through the clouds of tears and the stiff paper crumpling in his hands, Ed wished he had buried the man himself.

But that wasn’t the point of being loved. Being loved by someone else was not meant to be fuel for resentment. It was supposed to cure.

_ Oswald, I have to tell you something _ .

“I know.” Oswald said, Ed still staring up and blinking his tears back. “It’s okay, Ed.”

_ You don’t know what I’m going to say _ .

“I know you love me. You don’t have to say it.” Oswald smoothed Ed’s tie, trying to pull his head down to meet his eyes. “I love you too.” Ed lowered his head, tears revealing themselves and falling down his cheek. Oswald’s thumb reached up to wipe Ed’s tears. It was a sweet gesture, Ed finding shelter in the touch, the cure. “You have a kind heart, Edward. You should love it too.”


End file.
